


Traffic, Intern Opus No. 2

by silveradept



Series: Night Vale Intern Opuses [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Night Vale Community Radio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveradept/pseuds/silveradept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something has affected the citizens of Night Vale. Then again, this is not new, but someone will need to  take over the microphone and make sure the radio show continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traffic, Intern Opus No. 2

"Listeners. Uh, hello? How does he even tell whether this is...oh, right, red light."

"Hello, listeners. It's a little quiet in Night Vale today - the drive in from the Barista District was curiously absent of helpful coffee servers, the bus routes were running on time, and I think I may have seen a hooded figure outside, walking a dog. Even Station Management's office is lacking in its usual sounds of fear, dread, and efficiency of workplace. In fact, if they were here, I wouldn't be doing this at all, because of the recently-enacted, always-been-there policy regarding station interns broadcasting."

"On the way in, I passed a man driving in a car, headed to the highway. His car is a standard model sedan, made by an American manufacturer, in a faded blue color, utterly unremarkable except for the small Night Vale Community Radio bumper sticker attached to it during the last pledge drive. The man is a standard model man, made by American parents, in a faded red color, utterly unremarkable except for the Night Vale Community Radio mug that he sips a beverage from as he drives, a beverage whose contents are known only to the agents of a vague, yet menacing, government agency from, as required by Community Ordinance 65B-7, subchapter Mu."

"The car drives on a standard Night Vale road, with municipally approved potholes present so as to cause maximum damage to anyone driving over the speed limit established that day by the Sheriff's Secret Police, a speed limit that is, of course, secret until the Sheriff's Secret Police pull you over for exceeding it. Around the road is a standard desert, with rocks, cacti, and strange lights passing overhead at municipally approved distances. This ordinary man in his ordinary car on the ordinary road in the ordinary desert comes to the realization that he is experiencing something completely out of the ordinary. As he passes John Peters, you know, the farmer, the man realizes he hasn't seen anyone else on the road. Or any other cars on the road. Or any animals meant to impede his progress on the road. Surely there must be a desert cow around here, the man thinks. There is not. Surely there must be another person around here, thinks the man. There is not. Surely there must be a being named Erika that is definitely not an angel around here, thinks the man. There is one, but Erika is busy at the moment trying to count all the grains of sand in the desert on a dare."

"The man begins to question reality. Reality, of course, does not submit for questioning, since it has been a fugitive from the City Council sometime in the last century. If you see Reality somewhere, he sure to alert the Sheriff's Secret Police by shouting "Police!" into the nearest poorly-hidden microphone in your house. The man, impatient with the explanation and public service being performed on the community radio station, begins to drum on the steering wheel, before realizing that he had no idea where he is going, or, for that matter, where he has come from. To the man, he has always been on the road, driving to an unknown destination, with nobody around. The man begins to wonder if he is simply a figment of someone's imagination, or a convenient person thought up by a radio intern attempting to stall for as much time as possible before anyone notices that the regular community radio host is conspicuously absent from his desk, along with most of the people in the town. The man begins to think he is some part of a narrative misdirection intent on focusing on one very unimportant thing while very important things happen around them. The man is not correct. The man is not wrong."

"The man's world has shrunk to an unacceptable level. The man is worried that he will never return to Night Vale. The man realizes that his car has faded away from existence, and he is still driving on the road, despite his lack of car. The man looks down at his coffee cup, and realizes that only the orange liquid in the cup is left in the cup. He doesn't remember purchasing or pouring the orange liquid. He doesn't remember much any more. He realizes that this is because he has always been invisible, inaudible, and immaterial. Perhaps if he can turn around, he can return, but there's nothing to grab on to when you don't have a corporeal existence. The man wonders why he is still listening to the radio when it's clear that he had nothing, is nothing, and will soon throw himself into the void that claims all of us every time there's a scheduled solar maintenance period."

"The man, if we can call him that, is only there for illustrative purposes. This has been...Traffic."

"Well, that sounds like the drive is going to be smooth all day today. The only thing that might interfere..."

"...is The Weather."


End file.
